


Greg, Interrupted

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Greg Lestrade, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:44:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Written for the  OTP Quotes Challenge on Tumblr by @otp-imagines-cultPrompt #30 "You can't run so it'll be faster if I carry you"Mega-fluffy :-)





	Greg, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavender_and_Vanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/gifts).



Written for the OTP Quotes Challenge by @otp-imagines-cult

 

Prompt #30 “You can’t run so it’ll be faster if I just carry you.”

 

For @lavenderandvanilla Thank you for the challenge.

 

Greg Lestrade couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous.

Tonight, he was going to propose.

 

If he didn’t stop twitching inn his seat Mycroft would comment on it and, more likely, deduce exactly what he was going to say before he said it.

 

All around them in their favourite restaurant was the sound of cutlery on china, bottle on glass and the susurration of voices. The waiter cleared the remains of their dessert and they both agreed to coffee.

 

Once they were alone again Greg took Mycroft’s hands in both of his and held them on the table.

 

Should he get down on one knee or was that too corny?

 

He cleared his throat. “Mycroft…” he began, and Mycroft smiled, his blue eyes twinkling.

 

“Gregory?”

 

“Will you…”

 

The air was suddenly filled with the unmistakeable sound of gunfire, then the sound of screaming.

 

All Greg’s nervousness vanished as both he and Mycroft stood up and he grabbed a passing waiter.

 

“DCI Lestrade. M.I.T. You have to get everyone out of here.” The sound of gunfire got closer.

 

“Out the back way. Quickly now.”

 

The young man nodded and mustered the rest of the staff to begin the evacuation.

 

Mycroft grabbed his umbrella from under the table where it had been since they sat down to dinner. Greg was pretty sure the thing was weaponised and they both made their way to the front of the restaurant.

 

It wasn’t till it was too late that Mycroft saw the abandoned handbag and he fell heavily.

 

“Christ, love, are you all right?” asked Greg, his face a mask of concern.

 

He helped Mycroft up and the other man winced as he put weight on his left leg.

 

“I think I’ve sprained my knee,” he hissed as pain ripped through him.

 

“I’m getting you out of here,” said Greg firmly. “Canley Road station isn’t far and you can’t run so it’ll be faster if I carry you.”

 

Before Mycroft could protest, Greg swept him into a fireman’s lift and headed to the fire exit.

 

“This is so undignified!” complained Mycroft.

 

“And you weigh a ton,” objected Greg. “Too many profiteroles.”

 

Canley Street was in uproar at the news of the gunfire in London’s streets as Greg dumped Mycroft unceremoniously in the waiting area, identifying himself to the desk sergeant, stating what had happened and how he was trained in firearms.

 

“Thank Christ, Guv,” said the sergeant. “Got everything you need in the back.

 

“Two minutes,” promised Greg.

 

He knelt before Mycroft’s chair and said, “I have to go back, love. It’s what I do. There’s a first-aider coming and you’ll be safe here.”

 

Mycroft’s expression was glassy with pain but he managed a smile.

 

“Take care, Gregory. Promise me.”

 

“I’ll try,” said Greg, getting to his feet. Mycroft grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

 

“And Gregory, the answer to your question is yes.”


End file.
